The Golden Spire Hotel smelled like money and lies.
I pressed my back against the marble wall of the thirty-second floor, counting the seconds until my target would walk through that door. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Twenty-one.
My fingers found the familiar weight of the silver-loaded pistol strapped to my thigh. Custom-made, silent as death, deadly as truth. Just like me.
The hallway stretched out in front of me, all polished floors and crystal chandeliers. Rich people loved their sparkly things. Made it easier to hide blood stains, I guess. The red carpet would hide them even better.
Fifteen seconds.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, New Los Angeles glittered forty stories below. The surface city never slept, all neon signs and flying cars zipping between the towers like angry insects. But real power lived deeper. Underground, where the five families made their deals and settled their scores.
Ten seconds.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar tingle of anticipation. Mission briefing had been simple enough: eliminate David Chen, former Steel family lieutenant turned traitor. Price on his head: five million credits. Reason: stole family secrets and sold them to Shadow family competitors.
Five seconds.
The door clicked open.
David Chen stepped into the hallway, and I almost smiled. Almost. Weapons didn't smile.
He looked exactly like his file photo—mid-forties, graying hair, expensive suit that couldn't hide the nervous sweat staining his collar. His hands shook as he fumbled with his keycard. Guilty conscience, probably. Or maybe he knew someone was coming for him.
I raised my gun. Steady grip. Perfect stance. Line up the shot.
But then the door opened wider.
A little girl stumbled out behind him, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. Maybe six years old, wearing pink pajamas with cartoon cats. Her dark hair stuck up in every direction like she'd been sleeping hard.
"Daddy, where are we going?" she mumbled, leaning against his leg.
Chen's face went soft. He scooped her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Just for a ride, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."
She curled against his chest, thumb in her mouth.
My finger froze on the trigger.
The smart play was obvious. Wait for him to put her down. Or take the shot anyway—the bullet would pass clean through his heart, miss the girl entirely. I'd calculated the angle twice.
But something weird happened to my chest. Like someone was squeezing my ribs from the inside.
Chen started walking toward the elevator, bouncing the girl gently. She made soft, sleepy sounds against his shoulder. Normal sounds. Human sounds.
I followed, keeping to the shadows. My training kicked in—silent footsteps, controlled breathing, weapon ready. But that strange pressure in my chest got worse.
The elevator dinged. Chen stepped inside, still holding his daughter.
I had three seconds before the doors closed.
Two seconds.
One.
I didn't take the shot.
The elevator disappeared, carrying my target away. Five million credits gone. Mission failed.
I stood there in the empty hallway, staring at the closed doors. My hand was shaking. Since when did my hands shake?
"Null." The voice crackled through the comm device behind my ear. Dr. Kane's voice, calm and clinical as always. "Report."
I touched the comm, my mouth dry. "Target eliminated."
Lying to Control was a major violation. Why was I lying?
"Good. Return to base for debriefing."
The line went dead.
I holstered my weapon and headed for the stairwell. Forty-two flights down to the underground entrance. My legs moved automatically, but my brain kept replaying the same image: that little girl's face, peaceful and trusting against her father's shoulder.
The underground levels smelled different than the surface. Recycled air, metal, and something chemical that burned your nose if you breathed too deep. Down here, the five families ran everything. Shadow controlled information and secrets. Crimson handled biological weapons and blood magic. Steel managed weapons manufacturing and military tech. Mind dealt with memory modification and psychological warfare. Void specialized in assassination and disposal.
Each family had their territory, their rules, their particular flavor of violence.
I belonged to all of them. And none of them.
The Genesis Labs sat on level thirty-four, hidden behind three sets of security doors and enough firepower to level a city block. Home sweet home.
I pressed my palm to the scanner. "Identity confirmed: Genesis-007. Welcome back, Null."
The doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Dr. Kane waited in the debriefing room, as always. Gray hair perfectly combed, gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. He wore his usual white lab coat over a crisp black shirt. Everything about him screamed precision and control.
"Sit," he said, not looking up from his tablet.
I took the metal chair across from his desk. The room was small, windowless, painted that shade of white that hurt your eyes after a while. A single security camera watched from the corner, red light blinking like a mechanical heartbeat.
"Mission completed in eighteen minutes," Kane said, stylus moving across his tablet. "Three minutes faster than projected. Excellent work."
I said nothing.
He looked up, pale eyes studying my face. "Something wrong?"
"No."
"Heart rate is elevated. Stress hormones show unusual spikes." He frowned at his tablet. "Did you encounter resistance?"
"No."
Kane set the tablet down and leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. "Null, you've completed forty-six missions without a single anomaly. Your physiological responses have been perfectly consistent. Tonight, something changed."
The pressure in my chest twisted tighter.
"I'm fine."
"Let me be the judge of that." He stood and walked to a cabinet filled with medical equipment. "Roll up your sleeve."
I obeyed automatically. His hands were cold and steady as he inserted the needle, drawing blood into a small vial. The liquid looked darker than usual. Weird.
"We'll run a full panel," he murmured, labeling the vial with careful handwriting. "Check your neural pathways, hormone levels, brain chemistry. Make sure everything is functioning as designed."
As designed. Right.
"Dr. Kane." The words came out before I could stop them.
"Yes?"
"What happens to the targets' families? After."
He blinked once, slowly. "That's not your concern."
"I know. But what happens to them?"
Kane set the blood vial aside and picked up his tablet again. His fingers moved across the screen, pulling up files, data streams, mission reports. "The Steel family handles cleanup for their traitors. Usually relocation to a safe zone, new identities, enough money to start over. They're not monsters, Null."
"And if the families weren't so generous?"
"Then the families would have to live with their choices." He looked at me over his glasses. "As would you."
Something cold slid down my spine. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're a weapon, not a judge. Your job is to eliminate threats, not to worry about collateral damage." Kane saved his files and closed the tablet. "These questions suggest concerning emotional development. We may need to adjust your medication."
Emotional development. Like it was a disease.
"That won't be necessary."
"I'll make that determination." He moved to another cabinet, pulling out a syringe filled with clear liquid. "Hold out your arm."
I stared at the needle. Whatever was in there would make the weird feeling in my chest go away. Make me stop thinking about little girls in cartoon pajamas. Make me perfect again.
My arm didn't move.
Kane waited, syringe ready. "Null."
I rolled up my sleeve.
The injection burned going in, spreading fire through my veins. But the pressure in my chest faded, replaced by familiar numbness. Better. Safer.
"That should take care of any irregularities," Kane said, disposing of the syringe. "Get some rest. You have another assignment tomorrow."
I stood to leave.
"Oh, and Null?"
I turned back.
"Next time you experience... emotional confusion... report it immediately. These feelings are defects, not growth. The sooner we correct them, the less damage they can do." His smile was thin and cold. "We wouldn't want you to become defective, would we?"
Defective. Like the others who came before me. Genesis-001 through Genesis-006.
All of them terminated for showing signs of humanity.
"No sir," I said. "We wouldn't."
But as I walked back to my quarters, the numbness started wearing off. And underneath it, something new was growing. Something Kane's drugs couldn't quite reach.
For the first time in my life, I was curious about what "defective" really meant.
End of Chapter 1